“From Seoul.” His shoulders sag. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to frighten you or intrude. I’ll go. I can stay in a hotel.”
His expression is forlorn, but I’m immune, having experienced Hana’s frequently deployed nuclear-grade puppy-dog eyes. Although I’m 99 percent sure he is who he says, it’s not the 100 percent I require in this high-stress situation. Or any situation, frankly, because I only ever proceed after achieving total certainty.
“Put your passport on the coffee table, then go into the bathroomand close the door.” I need to talk to Hana, and I want him at a safe distance while I’m occupied.
“Is this really necessary?” he asks, eyeing the knife. When I wiggle it, he sighs and bends down to a black leather bag sitting on the floor. After he tosses a booklet on the table, he inches toward the bathroom without turning his back. We maintain steady eye contact, and the click of the door when he throws the lock sounds like a gunshot.
If this guy really is Hana’s cousin, he must be sincerely regretting her offer of a place to crash.
I put the knife on the counter within close reach and call Hana.
“Hey, Ari.” Hana’s breezy voice sings out of the phone. “Good timing! I’m picking up my bag. Is Jihoon there yet?”
“There is a strange man here, absolutely yes.” I keep watch on the bathroom door in case the presumed Jihoon Hulk-smashes out of it and edge over to grab the passport.
“I know, I’m sorry. I meant to tell you earlier, but work was a mess, and I was late to the airport.” Hana does not sound at all contrite. “Then I forgot until I arrived in Vancouver.”
Forgot. It’s the new f-word.
“You never mentioned him.”
“I’m sure I did. I don’t know. How many times do you talk about your cousins?”
“I would if one of them were going to be staying here,” I say.
There’s an increase in background sound as if she’s left the terminal to get a cab. “I know you don’t like surprises, but it came up kind of quick.”
I open the passport and thank God the name is romanized so I can read it. Choi Jihoon. Picture checks out, though he must be the only person on earth to look good in a government ID photo. I almost swear it’s Photoshopped.
“Say his last name.” It didn’t sound likeChoi.
“He’d say itChwey. Looks the same as mine, but we say it like white people.Chooy.” She draws it out with exaggeration.
Another mystery solved. I’m now 99.9 percent sure but require one more check. “Describe him.”
“Umm.” I can hear her thinking. “He’s my cousin, so Korean, obviously. Taller than me, about five ten. Unbelievably super stylish. A couple years younger than us.”
His passport confirms that makes him twenty-eight. It’s inappropriate to ask for a judgment on the quality of his looks, but Hana supplies it unsolicited. “Everyone says he’s good-looking.”
I snap the passport shut and drop it on the table. “Why do you know that?”
“Eomma never fails to point out how handsome he is when his name comes up. Then she tells me I need to groom my eyebrows better. Also, you saw him.”
I did, and that’s definitely the guy I banished to the bathroom. I sag against the counter. “I thought he was a murderer and pulled a knife on him.”
“Did you hurt him?” she asks with alarm.
“No.”
“Good. I’m sure he has health insurance, but stabbing is a really unfriendly welcome, cross-culturally. Ari, I’m sorry to spring this on you, but he’s family and in a bind.”
I can’t throw Hana’s cousin out, so I’m resigned to Jihoon’s visit. “How long is he here for?”
“Not sure. He’s quiet,” she adds.
This will be a change, since Hana has what I think of as a big personality. “What’s so urgent that he needed to jump on a flight to Toronto?”
She heaves a weighty sigh. “It’s a breakup. A rough one.”